Humanoid 4-0
by PunsandPoses
Summary: After a devastating accident, Ivan Braginsky is left without limbs and the life and body he had once before. Shunned and horrifying to his peers, he seeks solace in the house of one Alfred F. Jones. But will hiding be enough to keep the wolves at bay? Futuristic Frankenstein AU! RusAme. Rated M to be safe.


**Warnings: Language, Puns, Extended Metaphors**

 **The area of puns is marked with** _PUNS AHEAD!_ **and ends with** _PUNS OVER_. **This is for your mental health.**

* * *

 _Prologue:_

Alfred hummed as he spun slowly in a circle, arms up to hold an invisible partner.

 _I've gone real estate here in my bag (mm), so go pack a cigarette…_

He twirled slowly, smiling softly. The melody played softly in the background, the voices rising ever-so-slightly before falling again. He loved the music, with its soft tones and beautiful voices.

 _I've walked off to look for America._

He smiled again, and he continued the dance as the cassette player started to fall in tone.

 _Like a dream to me know. It took me four days to hitchhike from_ _Saginaw_ _-_

He grabbed the paintbrush from the tray, and lifted it, dripping blue and all. He streaked his face with the color.

 _I've gone to look for America!_

The paint dripped ever so slightly off him, and he could feel the drops on his shirt. But he couldn't care. He found a paint can by touch and ran his fingers over the top to see what hue it was. A vibrant red. Perfect.

 _Laughing on the bus…playing games with their faces._

He dipped his fingers in the paint, and he lightly pressed them to his cheek. The red dripped down his arm and ran along his wrist and forearm in messy tendrils of liquid.

 _I said be careful, his bow-tie is really a camera…._

Even if he was not really supposed to mess with paint, who cared. If he was streaked in blue, then his heart would be. It reflected how he felt. Blue. Blue, blue, blue.

 _A new road has opened for you…._

The walkway was dim, at least for him. Even if the school would accept him, would the people there? He was a nearly blind man in a visual world. Nothing would be easy.

 _I've gone to look for America! (For America!) I've gone to look for America!_

He sighed and lowered his hand. The red dripped away, and he could feel the paint on his face drying. Quickly, while he was still alone, he took a hank of hair in his hand and dyed it purple with the colors on his face.

At least, now he would have a reminder that even if the world was black, music would still be his color, his sight, his beauty.

 _~well, fortune favors not the young, spoken words and songs unsung...right?~_

They ripped into his skin and gave him new parts. They broke through his bones and replaced their cartilage with cybernetic parts. He was broken. He was perfect. He was unfixable.

Ivan lay on a table afterward, his body aching. The doctor stared at him and removed the needles from his skin.

"You're healed from your surgery," he said, still staring at Ivan. Ivan didn't know why. Was it disgust? Hatred? "Your body will need some time to adjust to your cybernetic implants and various wounds that you suffered."

He left hastily like Ivan was a horrible monster. Ivan looked at his body, which apparently had been 'fixed'. Large scars ran across his torso and seemed to be congregated in his neck, especially.

He touched his cheek, rough bumps and curves embedded in the skin. Ivan shuddered as he ran his fingers along the diagonal scar. He caught a glimpse of himself in the shiny, metal wall. His eyes were a different color. Violet, the color of irises and lavender and silence. They used to be grey, grey like a stormy sea and the clouds that glided across the red sky, free and alone. Violet was the color of the noiseless, and when put in cloaks they slid silently along the floor, not a rustle.

The old men from years ago used to reminisce about when the sky was blue, the way the sea was not a broken, dirty black color and life was still pure. When humanity didn't live underground because the air above wasn't poisoned. When the Fall didn't happen and everything was pure and happy and free.

But that wasn't to be anymore. The old men always finished their remembrance by letting tears run down their cheeks. Earth was dying, and the rocketry from eons before had faded like clothing: too many times of being washed and eventually the color was sapped away.

He had been born underground, in a white facility that stunk of antiseptic and blood. The doctor had been rushed in delivering, and his mother had died before Ivan had been fully born. He was cut from her, and since he was weeks early, he was stuck in a plastic womb that was his life and body. He was truly born two months later, his body pale from his genetics and his hair white from being left without his mother's protective embrace.

Or he was so told. He was called the Snowman, for his icy attitude and ivory looks. And then the accident happened.

He couldn't remember much of it, if he was honest, it was a blur, but he could recall Katyusha screaming and Natalya flying past him like a rag doll. Something sharp embedded itself in his skull, and he passed out from lack of blood.

The next thing he knew, he woke up on an operating table, stuck full of tubes and doctors surrounding him. He screamed loudly, and they were forced to jab a large needle at him so he could know peace.

He was broken, and he was scared.

 _~I never learned from my mistakes, I guess I don't have what it takes...right?~_

Alfred's fingers scrabbled around for his cane, passing over keys and various knickknacks until he reached the smooth metal. He wrapped his hand around it, and he brought it over.

"That took a while," Arthur commented from his place somewhere to Alfred's right. Alfred cocked his head and rolled his shoulders, turning to where he thought Arthur was.

"I can't help it," Alfred retorted, jutting his hip out and setting the cane to his right like an old-time showman. Arthur snorted and walked somewhere near Alfred, based on the sound of his footsteps.

"Come on, don't you have some of those weird things you need to buy?" Arthur asked, grabbing Alfred's arm. Alfred snarled at Arthur's dismissal.

"It's called music," Alfred snarked. Arthur snorted again and shook his head, the top of his head tickling Alfred's chin.

"I always forget that, it's kind of a ridiculous thing. Sounds arranged in a pattern, how odd is that? What were those groups you liked, with the 'guitars' and 'drums'?"

"Led Zeppelin, Guns 'N' Roses, and Fleetwood Mac," Alfred replied quietly. Arthur had scoffed at music since Alfred had found it in the back of a shop, dusty records and CD's lining the walls. He had bought a player for both of them, and Alfred was frequently told to turn them down.

"Oh, right," Arthur said. "Anyway, don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Yes," Alfred replied.

 _~I wish that I was strong, that I could walk away...All this time I've lost, I feel the cost repaid~_

Ivan stared at the wall again. There was a void in his eyes, he knew, and he scowled as he stared into those abysses, those hosts of oblivion. He hated them, he hated them all.

He pressed a finger to his cheek again and felt the ridges and bumps. Too pale, too tall, too foreign. Too _alone._ He ripped out the needles in his arm absentmindedly, the pain only sending him further into his purpose. He would not find peace, he would not find anything at all.

His compartment would be empty, no sisters to fill it, and their belongings would be strewn around like toys tossed by a toddler. There would be no laughter, no hugs at night. He would be alone, alone, alone.

He stood, the light cloth gown he wore drifting around his knees. He walked awkwardly, the cybernetic leg yet to be used before then. It glowed a bright purple, and the hand that had been replaced beeped when it was noon. The date shone like a diamond, stark white letters and numbers on a black background. April 14, 2135.

Ivan met no one on his way to his compartment, surprisingly enough, and he was both thankful and suspicious. He collapsed on the bed, his hand looking around for a small tablet.

When he grabbed it, the images on it started a slideshow. Natalya leaning against a wall, eyes distant and in thought, Katyusha laughing, Ivan hugging them both. Katyusha making blini, Natalya and Ivan hugging...

He threw the tablet. It shattered, and the pieces scattered around the room. Ivan wanted to leave, go somewhere else, somewhere not here. Somewhere full of sunflowers and happiness.

There was a small flash drive in the tablet, and it bounced out when Ivan threw the tablet. He picked it up, and the small, shiny technology glinted in his palm. It had a small loop in the top, and he threaded wire through it. He hung it around his neck and walked to the closet.

It was a mess, Katyusha's and Natalya's clothing spread throughout. He dug through the piles until he found a scarf of Katyusha's. A light pink, it slipped through his fingers like water when he picked it up. He wound it around his neck.

He would wear it forever.

 _~So save today, the secrets that you prayed for, and wait, 'cause we deserve it so much more~_

Alfred could tell the shop was near. Arthur had led him for over ten minutes, and he felt the smooth linoleum turn to rough stones under his feet. This was the older Sanctus, the one people shied away from. The one that was dirty, old, and had existed before the Fall.

They stopped, Arthur releasing Alfred's arm. The latter took a deep breath in, it smelled like burning plastic and just a hint of chocolate. It was an odd scent, but one The Barrel had always carried.

"Alfred, m'boy!" a robust, deep voice exclaimed. Carlos.

"Hey, Carlos!" Alfred replied happily. The wider man enveloped him in a hug and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"I have new CDs and records, Al!" Carlos said happily. "The Chordettes, the Offspring, and this new one named Green Day!"

"Green Day?" Arthur asked from his position behind them. Carlos' arm pressed tighter into Alfred, like a snake. He stiffened.

"They were a band," Carlos answered a bit sharply. Alfred frowned. Arthur always had to ruin things, didn't he...Oh, well. The CDs were still there, and so were the records. One angry Arthur Kirkland wouldn't do anything. And if there was one thing Carlos Machado loved, it was music.

Alfred stopped before where he guessed was a shelf. He reached forward and felt for the racks of CDs and records. He stopped on one that felt new. It was smooth and not rough and bumpy like the other ones. "What's this?"

"That says...Bad Company?" Arthur replied next to him. He sounded confused. "Who is that?"

Carlos walked near them and threw an arm around them both. "I'll show ya!"

Arthur protested as they were being dragged over to the record machine, Alfred's cane clanging as it hit the flagstones. Carlos pulled the record from Alfred's fingers and in a moment, the album began to play.

 _A company, always on the run...Destiny, oh it's the rising sun...I was born, a six-gun in my hands. Behind the gun, I'll make my final stand._

Alfred started humming as the music escalated, the crackly melody rushing forth like water from a faucet.

 _Yeah, that's why they call me...Bad company, I won't deny...Bad, bad company, 'til the day I die...Until the day I die..._

Without realizing it, Alfred began to sway. The sound echoed in his ears and he swore he could see again. His hands let go of the cane and he danced happily.

 _Rebel souls, deserters we've been called...Chose a gun, and threw away the song...Now these towns, well, they all know our name...The six-gun sound...is the claim of fame...And that's why they call me..._

Alfred sang along as they sang the chorus, the aged voices that were from years far past but still sung like they were in the room there with them. That was how history made itself.

 _Bad company, I can't deny...Bad, bad company, 'til the day I die!_

The song ended a few moments later, and Alfred heard Arthur suck in a breath. Carlos laughed.

"And that, boys, is what we old folks call music!"

 _~So save, the secret's that you prayed for...awake, I'll see you on the other side~_

He didn't want to be there. Ivan was tired, and his eyes were rimmed in red. He had spent the last thirty minutes trying not to cry, and the result was red eyes and a very sore throat.

The scarf fluttered behind him as he walked, a testament to his sorrow. He had found an old coat of his and had slipped it on. The brown fabric felt familiar to his human hand. The cybernetic limbs still didn't work quite right, and he walked with a slight limp that refused to vanish.

He remembered that silver was the color of reflection. He streaked his white hair with the color out of anger. Maybe it would make things better if he could hold reflection within himself. He sighed. This was tiring.

A woman scuttled past him, her eyes wide and frightened. He smiled at her, but the grin was laced with pain and cracked around the edges.

"I'm sorry, I'll just..." she practically sprinted to get away. Ivan's eyes widened.

"What?"

He had arrived in Sanctus, and everyone was staring. Staring at his metal hand and scar and streaked hair. Staring at him. All had disgust or fear on their faces. All were trying not to cry, it seemed. He didn't know why.

"Hello?" he asked, voice echoing in the stillness. Someone, a little boy no more than eight, shouted.

"Get away, you monster!"

 _Monster._ The word reverberated within the buildings like a mantra. _Monster, monster, monster._ Then the dam broke, and they all started yelling.

"You freak! Monster! Get out!"

They were all yelling, yelling at him. Their voices rang throughout the large cavern that made up Sanctus, and they all screamed. _Freak. Monster. You don't belong here._ Every word was a dagger. Every one found their mark.

He sank to his knees. The crowd seemed to swell as they chanted, the words forming a great snake that reared up and found its fangs' place in Ivan. The snake seemed to pulse its poison into him to the beat of Ivan's heart.

Ivan got up. He stumbled as he ran, ran away from all of them. As he sprinted, they followed after him.

"Monster! You don't belong here!"

He ran and ran, but he didn't know where he could go.

 _~A tortured soul have I become, it keeps me safe and leaves me numb...right?~_

Alfred hummed as he walked. Arthur had been summoned for some meeting or other, so he was alone. And free to do whatever he liked.

He tapped the cane idly in tune to the song. It was called "Welcome to the Jungle", according to Carlos, and its thrumming chords practically echoed in his soul. Alfred loved music like that, with drums that thumped heavy beats and guitars that shrieked.

The flagstones had turned into linoleum sometime before, and he ran his hands on the walls until he found his compartment. Alfred F. Jones. Footsteps emerged in front of him, and a moment later, a body slammed into his.

It was quite a mess, Alfred finding a leg between his own and their hair in his mouth. "Jesus!"

"I am so sorry," they replied in a deep, masculine, apologetic voice. The man extracted himself from Alfred and grabbed his hand to pull him up. "I'm normally not so clumsy."

"You're fine," Alfred reassured. He toed around for his cane and a moment later, had it gently placed in his hand. "Uh, thanks. If you don't mind me asking, why were to running?"

"You really can't guess?" the man chuckled quietly, then stopped abruptly. "Are you..."

"Blind? Yes, I don't mind you saying it. Can't see a damn thing. It's irritating, but what can you do?" Alfred waved his hand airily. "Alfred."

"Ivan," the man said warmly. He shook Alfred's outstretched hand. "I'm still very sorry. I should have been looking where I was going. It's just, they were all..."

"I get it, dude, you're still totally fine. People can be such jerks, right?" Alfred asked. Ivan laughed. "They tease me for being blind and things like that, taking my cane and purposefully misleading me when I need to go somewhere."

"I feel this is an odd and kind of weird question," Ivan began. Alfred chuckled.

"Not gonna make me do a one night stand, are ya?" Alfred laughed boisterously. Ivan stammered out a hasty denial of what he said, but it only made Alfred laugh harder.

"N-no, I was just going to ask if I could stay with you, as like a roommate?" Ivan asked, his voice tinged with hope. Alfred sobered immediately.

"Did they start teasing you too?" Alfred asked seriously.

"Yes," Ivan replied, sounding nervous. "But it's more like they chased me while yelling 'monster'."

Alfred scowled. It wasn't often that he met someone in such dire need of help. "If they did, they're assholes."

"I know," Ivan said sadly. But you couldn't fight a horde of them. They were just too many, and they would find everything remotely scary and destroy it. Him included. And if Alfred thought they were assholes too, well, he might actually like him.

"I'll let you stay with me," Alfred affirmed, his eyes widened for effect. "But I'm going to lay some ground rules."

 _~'Cause in this dream I'm wide awake, the one I love I did forsake...right?~_

"Did you see that man?"

The tavern quieted. People looked over at each other and shrugged. The man who asked, McCoy, was a notorious drunk, and he made tales that were outlandish often.

"What man?" someone asked. McCoy grinned with sadistic pleasure. The person rolled their eyes.

"The man I'm talking about is something you've barely seen before!" McCoy crowed. "He has purple eyes that shine like fire, and he wears a pink scarf! His brown coat strikes fear into the heart of whoever catches so much as a glimpse of him. His cyber hand glints in the light, his leg stomps with every step. He is a Humanoid!"

"So what?" a woman asked from her position near the attractive male bartender. Her breasts jiggled as she hopped off the stool. She strutted over to McCoy, her slim hips swaying and too-short skirt rising with every step. Flipping her blue hair over her shoulder, she stared at McCoy, who was only too happy to oblige.

"His face has a long scar, which is bright and hideous. His hair is streaked with silver, and he is tall, taller than any of us!"

"I know that man! He's Ivan Braginsky!" a man yelled. "He was always a freak!"

"You've got to be careful with 'em," McCoy's eyes had taken on an odd sort of glow. "Kirkland, did you see Braginsky? Did you see the monster?"

Arthur, from his place in the corner, calmly sipped his ale. He shrugged. McCoy scowled.

"Were ya with that boy? Alfred? You know ya gotta let go sometime, you've been with that boy for years! It's not healthy, you've got to let go. And he burned you so badly a few years back, I thought you would nurse that wound forever."

"What I do and don't do is no consequence to you, McCoy," Arthur snapped.

"It's still a shame you're wasting your life away with him. He's nineteen, and blind, not to mention, of course," McCoy added, seeing the fierce glare. "But there are plenty of women who would love to at least be your friend. Don't mope forever."

"I'm not moping. And I did see Braginsky, not that it's of any importance. He's lost all his family, you could do with being nicer to him. Imagine losing both your sisters and two of your limbs in a single accident."

"It's a bit odd," McCoy commented, his eyes widened comically, "how Braginsky lost so much in one accident. It was a boiler explosion, am I correct? Something wrong with the generator? That's all anybody knows about it. The engineers who looked at the remains of the engine room said they didn't know what was wrong with it."

"Malfunctions happen all the time. And of course he lost his sisters- they all worked there."

"But he's hideous now," McCoy replied. He waved his arms dramatically as Arthur raised an eyebrow. Everyone was watching them.

"He's the monster of our nightmares! He's a Humanoid!"

 _~I wish that I was wrong, that you'll come home again. All this time I've lost, I'll never find again~_

"Welcome to my humble abode!" Alfred flung his arms out and his cane nearly smacked Ivan in the face. The latter cursed as he dodged it.

"Alright," Alfred said, grinning widely. "These are my ground rules. Don't startle me, put everything exactly where you found it, keep it clean, and if you're leaving, tell me."

"Seems fair," Ivan agreed. Alfred smiled wider.

"Welcome to your new home," Alfred flailed for Ivan's hand for a moment before grabbing it. "C'mon, I'll get you a bedroom. Or what counts for one."

Alfred led him through the house easily, naming off the rooms before stopping in front of a plain white door. "I have a storage room here, it's just a little cluttered. Don't worry, I have a spare bed, though I doubt it's large enough."

He opened the door, and Ivan swore he was on Earth before the Fall. There was every Topside item imaginable, toys, books, everything that had been before the Earth's core had shut down and they were left to deal with the consequences of their actions as humans.

Ivan fingered a CD, the letters bold. "Who is 'Toby Keith'?"

Alfred gasped and pressed a hand to his chest in mock-hurt. "You don't know who _Toby Keith_ is?"

Ivan laughed. "Of course not, he was a Topside artist before the Fall."

"Fair enough," Alfred conceded. It wasn't as if music was common knowledge nowadays. People tended to scoff at him for liking music, save for Carlos. Carlos was different. He loved music just as much as Alfred, and it was nice to have someone to chat with about rock or pop.

"I'll see what other obscure artists I can find," Ivan said, rooting through the stacks. Some were familiar, if only vaguely. "What on earth is 'Rasputin'? Is that some melody?"

Alfred giggled. He actually giggled. "Oh my god, you have to listen to that."

"Something tells me I don't want to," Ivan backed away. Alfred, however, made an excellent guess as to where Ivan was situated, and he lunged. Snatching the CD from the Humanoid's grip, he stuck it in a player and waited.

And sure enough, shouts of 'hey' and violin began emerging. Ivan snorted. "Is this music?"

"Shut up and listen," Alfred said, humming with the tune. Ivan shrugged and listened. The melody changed, and the chorus began.

 _Ra, Ra, Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen..._

"This is ridiculous," Ivan interrupted. Alfred sent a glare at him.

 _Ra, Ra, Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine..._

The song ended a few minutes later. Alfred laughed at him when he sputtered at the end. Alfred dug around in the CDs, trying to find another funny one.

"What's this one?" Alfred asked, holding up a red CD. Ivan squinted.

"Bat Out of Hell by...Meatloaf?"

Alfred grinned. "This guy is legendary. Just listen to this one song, it's absolutely fantastic. The chorus is perfect, too, so you can't _not_ like it, ya know?"

Ivan sighed. "Whatever you say, Alfred."

Alfred's smile grew, and he skipped over to the player again. Switching out the previous CD (Alan Parsons Project), he stuck Meatloaf into the player and skipped over the songs until he found what he wanted. 'Paradise By the Dashboard Light'.

Ivan listened carefully to the music, mulling it over in his head as it played.

 _I can see paradise by the dashboard light!_

Then it completely changed and someone was discussing a baseball game? He was honestly confused, but Alfred was staring off into space with stars in his eyes. Alfred was odd sometimes. And then a woman spoke up, and the music changed again.

 _I wanna know right now! Before we go any further, do you love me? Will you love me forever...Well, let me sleep on it, baby, baby, let me sleep on it. Let me sleep on it, I'll give you an answer in the morning!_

Alfred sang along, his voice strong and clear. Then it rose in intensity and so did he.

 _What'll it be, boy? Yes...or...NO!_

The song was abrupt, changed melodies often, and was all in all a complete mess in Ivan's opinion, but he also...liked it?

"Is there any other songs like that?" he asked when it ended. Alfred nodded.

"Yep! If you wanna hear one, grab me my Queen CD and you'll hear it." Ivan handed the CD to Alfred, who popped it in. He skipped a few times, then found what he was looking for. And a moment later, Ivan was blown away.

 _Mama...just killed a man...Put a_ gun against _his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead. Mama, his life had just begun...And now he's gone and thrown it all away...Mama, ooh..._

Alfred, just like all the other times, was singing along.

 _I didn't mean to make you cry, and I'll be back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, nothing really matters..._

A few hours later, Ivan was schooled in music of all kinds, rock, pop, even classical. He found he liked classical the best, it seemed to convey emotions better than any kinds. A composer he found was excellent was Tchaikovsky. The _1812 Overture_ set his nerves on fire and sent chills down his spine, oddly enough.

Alfred yawned and asked what time it was.

"Five-o'clock," Ivan replied promptly. Alfred smiled.

"You feeling up for making dinner? I'm feeling lazy," he said from his position on a stuffed animal, which on closer inspection was revealed to be what used to be a bald eagle. The old-timers always told about the bald eagle and how it was a symbol of freedom, back before the Fall.

"I hope you like stew," Ivan replied, "because that's my specialty."

"Excellent," Alfred said. "I'm starving."

Ivan got up, his knees cracking as he stood. He had long since ditched the heavy coat, but he still wore his plain lavender shirt, jeans, and brown boots. He walked out, trying to remember where the kitchen was. After a few wrong turns, he found it.

The kitchen was larger and more spacious than at his home, steel glinting from the oven and stove. The countertops were plain granite, but they were clean and scratched from the years.

He found the storage, and he dug out potatoes, broth, beef, and some spices. Chopping up the potatoes, he found a pot and lit the stove. It made him feel like a housewife, but it was nice to cook again.

Alfred emerged a few moments later, his hair mussed from having fingers drag through it. He gripped the cane in his hand and smirked when he heard potatoes hit the bottom of the pot.

"Domestic, aren't ya?"

Ivan glared at him. "I think it's a necessary skill to know how to cook."

"Relax, I was just teasin' ya," Alfred snorted. Ivan smirked before tipping a few more of the potatoes into the stew. He added the beef and spices, then closed the lid and started to wait. Alfred tilted his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked impatiently. Ivan's grin grew and his eyes shone. "Are you still cooking?"

"Of a sort," he evaded. Alfred looked frustrated with that answer.

"Shouldn't it be done soon?"

"Not particularly," he answered. "Stew takes a while. It'll be ready soon. Here."

He handed the reluctant (and somewhat irritated) Alfred a cut of carrot. Alfred took an experimental bite.

"What is this?" he asked in disgust. Ivan snorted at him and he glared in Ivan's general direction.

"That," Ivan replied," is what you call a 'carrot'."

 _PUNS AHEAD!_

"Well, I don't _carrot_ all what it is, so long as I never meet it again," Alfred smirked. Ivan rolled his eyes to the heavens.

"There was no _raisin_ for that god-awful pun."

Alfred laughed. "I avaca- _don't_ know why you're talking about."

Ivan rolled his eyes again. If he did it any more, he might get them stuck. "I find that the _root_ of the problem is you."

"You're a nutcase if you think I'm the problem!" Alfred crowed. "Crime and _pu_ nishment!"

"Be careful, or I might just cause utter pundemonium!" Ivan warned. "I'll hit you with some hot-cross _puns_!"

"Oh, it's on!" Alfred said, and the Pun War began. It was, in fact, utter pundemonium, and neither of them escaped unscathed. Puns are, of course, the worst weapon in the history of language, and even the staunchest pun-lover would have cringed at what they were throwing at each other.

"Did you know what the dog said when he sat on sandpaper? Rough!" Alfred yelled.

"It's been _knife_ to meet you, but I'm afraid our evening might take a _sharp_ turn!" Ivan replied with equal ferocity. "I've been trying to convert to Buddha, but there's much to be said about margarine!"

"You're just like a grizzly! Unbearable!"

"You know what a sea monster's favorite meal is? Fish and ships!" Ivan threw this wordy grenade at Alfred, who was blown away by the terrible joke. Unfortunately for Ivan, Alfred had a bomb in store.

"You know what goes tick and woof? A watchdog!"

This well-aimed weapon struck Ivan, and he found himself unable to think of any others. Alfred basked in his victory, ignoring the other. Ivan reared up for one last attack, his last line of soldiers advancing upon Alfred, who was merely thinking he had won the war. With a smirk, Ivan attacked.

"You son of a _peach!"_

This was it. The pun that destroyed all others before it and wrecked the perfect peace Alfred had wrought for himself. The latter was taken down in one fell swoop, and the Pun War was over.

"There's snow way you think you've won," Alfred said, smirking. And he began to sing.

 _A bachelor is a cagey guy,_

 _He has a load of fun,_

 _He messes around with all the girls,_

 _And never Mrs. one!_

Or perhaps not. Unfortunately for the war, Ivan realized they had been absorbed in it for thirty minutes, and he rushed to check on his stew. But, fortunately for their stomachs, it was caught just before overcooking and was perfectly done.

They halted the war and ate, the only noises they made for the next fifteen minutes was Alfred slurping happily while Ivan cringed. Then dinner was over, and it was only a matter of time until the Pun War began again.

"So," Alfred said, pushing aside the bowl and preparing for the offensive, "I've been _stewing_ for a while about how nice this is."

"Yes," Ivan replied, also making preparations. He ran over several different options and then decided. Alfred would have fun with this. "I was so _Hungary,_ I was practically _Russian_ to get to the table after I served."

"Me too," Alfred agreed carefully. "I hoped you would get into the beef, the only poultry I have is _Turkey_ , and it's covered in this thick layer of _Greece_."

"That's disgusting," Ivan retorted. And the Pun War had begun again. "There is _Norway_ I would have even touched that. Are you _Stalin_ about getting more food?"

"No," Alfred loftily answered. "It just takes a while to get there, and I don't wanna _Putin_ the effort."

" _Venice_ that gonna happen, then? Did the lady at the counter not like you?" Ivan waved his arm around.

"I don't know, _Alaska_. And I forget, too."

" _Denmark_ a place so you remember to get to the store. Don't be a window, always a pane."

Alfred loaded his guns, and so did Ivan. The latter tried to remember every last geography lesson he had ever had, and it worked. Alfred started to scramble for a pun. " _Kenya_ not insult me?"

"Are you Hoover? Because dam."

"Can _Jamaica_ new joke?" Alfred scoffed. Ivan rolled his eyes yet again and he snorted. Honestly, he really needed to stop rolling his eyes.

"I wish we could go there, so I could get some _dam_ salad, maybe some _dam_ soup."

"What's gotten _India_ , Ivan?" Alfred inquired in mock-surprise. "Trying to _Sweden_ me up?"

"Oh my, I think you're gonna _Babylon_ forever!"

"Well then, I'll _Finnish_ up!"

"I hope you stab yourself with an icicle! Then I could say you died of cold cuts!" At this, Alfred attacked and swung at Ivan's front line. Ivan prepared to be on the defensive and made battle plans. After a moment of careful deliberation, he shot multiple cannonballs at Alfred's ranks.

"You know why the wastebasket is an over-achiever? Because it's a garbage can, not a garbage cannot! What did the knife say do his girlfriend? You're looking sharp! What does no one like corkboard? Because he dressed tacky! Wanna know how Mushroom's so popular? Because he's a fungi!"

Alfred's lines shattered. He tried to find another pun but found himself out. Ivan kept advancing.

"Dogs really like _woof_ les, they make them howl at the moon. They really like _bark_ on, too. And those _growled_ eggs are so delicious! I got yelled at by some stars, guess I found some negative space."

"I yield! The _yolk's_ on me!" Alfred yelled. "I have met my match."

"Good," Ivan said sweetly. He lightly cuffed Alfred with his human hand and collected the bowls. Whistling, he cleaned up the mess they had made by eating. Alfred growled to himself and made plans for revenge.

 _PUNS OVER_

 _~So save today, the secret's that you prayed for..And wait, cause we deserve it so much more~_

It wasn't that hard to whip people into a frenzy. Just give them something to scowl about, something to fear. Something to kill, destroy, taint.

McCoy smirked. He had broken into the records easily. Every citizen of Sanctus had a file- whether they be living or dead. And it wasn't that hard to get to them.

Taking the bobby pin from his pocket, he stuck it in the lock. A few jabs and twists and he was free to get anything he liked from the Archives.

He snatched Ivan, Katyusha, and Natalya Braginsky's files, as well as Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones'. He didn't know what he could do with the latter files, but he would find something.

He could always find something that could destroy a person in the eyes of the people. That was his talent, his gift.

And he could use it. McCoy had shattered many reputations, and those five were next on his list. It was only a matter of time until he found something incriminating. Something that would break Alfred F. Jones from the list of nice people.

Checking a camera that was in Alfred's compartment, he saw something: Ivan Braginsky laughing as Alfred made a joke, his eyes sparkling.

McCoy chuckled. He had found his evidence.

 _~So save, the secret's that you prayed for, awake, I'll see you on the other side~_

Alfred howled as Ivan finished his story. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, smiling. "So Arthur was that drunk off his ass?"

"Y-yes," Ivan hiccuped, his laughter making his sides ache. He looked at Alfred with a small, soft smile. The younger was really too nice.

"That's so good, I'm going to have to get some more dirt on Artie! He's always saying he's a 'proper gentleman', now I get to go and tell him the story!" Alfred cackled, his sapphire-blue eyes glittering brightly. Ivan felt his heart start to beat a little faster, and his face started to warm. Alfred was oblivious, talking still. "So, what time is it?"

"Eight-fifty," Ivan answered, face still too warm for his liking. Thank god Alfred couldn't see him. The blond continued, still painfully oblivious. "I'm going to tuck in. It might make me seem like an old person, but I usually get in bed by nine. You can listen to some music, but not too loud."

"Alright," Ivan said. "Goodnight."

"'Nighty-night, Ivan," Alfred replied, yawning. He got up, stretching, and walked down the hallway. Ivan sighed. He was too awake to sleep, and music would be of no help. What he needed was a book.

The last book he had read was _Dr. Zhivago_ , and the writing was somewhat hard to understand, seeing as it was from two thousand years ago. The novel had earned a "Nobel Prize" (Ivan still had no idea what that was), and it was an excellent story. He had read it with Katyusha and Natalya, both of whom yelled at him when he read ahead of them.

God, Katyusha, and Natalya...He missed them like crazy. They had only been missing from his life for a month, but the wound still ripped at him like it was fresh. He closed his eyes and remembered the last day he had seen them.

 _~Say you can help me now~_

Natalya removed her hand from the scanner, scowling. "Another day, another cough."

"Don't be so sullen," Katyusha rebuked gently. Natalya glared at her. "Don't look at me like that, it's only for a few hours. I'll make some blini."

"Really?" Ivan smirked. "Bribing her already? Usually, we're hours in before you start."

"Oh, shut it," Katyusha rolled her eyes and stepped in the sooty room. Ivan followed, and so did Natalya. In unison, all of them coughed as the dusty air entered their lungs. Ivan hated the dust. It coated their lungs and caused them all to wheeze. Natalya frowned. They would be there for several hours yet, and already they felt ill.

"Ivan..." Katyusha said, peering into the generator, "there's something wrong with the generator."

Ivan strode over, and he peered into the machine. A strange creaking noise was coming from it. He pressed a hand gently against the power, and a moment later, there was a series of muffled bangs.

The generator shuddered. A thin stream of smoke emerged, and it exploded.

It was odd to see, and Ivan found himself standing there. Pieces of metal were flying around him, and when one pierced his skin, he finally reacted. Staring around, he looked desperately for Katyusha- who wasn't moving. A large piece of the machine stuck out of her chest, and blood was spread in a circle.

Ivan did the only thing he could do. He ran. Sprinting away from Katyusha. The generator imploded again, and a piece of metal embedded itself in his shoulder. He winced but kept going. The pain was only temporary.

Natalya flew past him as the machine blew up yet again, her body limp as a rag doll's. Something hit the back of his head, and he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

 **First chapter in what is likely going to be a 5-chapter story. It loosely follows the plot of Frankenstein, but parts of this are mine. Please review, I need your feedback.**


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